


Consider

by orphan_account



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Based on Real Events, Death, Depression, Random Drabbles, Sort Of, Suicide, getting better every day, volatile
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 07:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14848805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Multiple stories of people, some based on real stories, some not.Some are connected, some are not.Read at your own risk.





	1. Chapter 1

“Just give them what they wants, you idiot. It doesn't matter. You're too worthless to own anything.” 

She shut her eyes firmly, squeezing them until her contacts were sharp and misplaced in her eyelids. Her fingers pulled her sleeves up to her knuckles, the material rough against the scars on his forearm. The deepest wound was the second most recent, and it was sensitive.

At school, her gym teacher joked (pertaining to her sweatshirt), “how are you not burning in that? I'm sweating just looking at you.” 

She had swallowed subtly, and answered, “I don't really get hot.” 

All this response received was a furrowed eyebrow, and then someone started up conversation with the teacher. 

She knew it would be harder to explain the scars that grew when she got home. It wasn't that she only considered it at home; that was just the only time she was safe. She was always either on her phone or doing something with a pencil and paper, so nobody suspected anything.

Honestly, she wondered how they just believed her. Sure, before the ― whatever this was ― that  _ was _ all she did, but now she was just... different. 

Bored, nearly devoid of emotion. She pushed her feelings down and tried to close herself off, pretending only to be happy.

Her friends noticed the long clothes in the summertime, though; along with the eye bags and random naps and forlorn glances at a certain guy. He wasn't the cause of her depression of sorts, but he did contribute to it. 

Usually, she wasn't one to get attached. But he was different. He brought out her slight feminine side, though, and she hated that. And she knew he'd never like her, he hates her, she used to hate him. He matured, and didn't really change...but she started to realize how attractive he was. 

She never found herself attractive. Not even plain pretty. She thought herself gross, and some people verbally expressed that they didn't think this was unfounded. And she pretended to be strong, pretended it didn't get to her.

She wasn't weak. 

After all, cutting deep wounds into yourself and purposely hurting yourself in other ways wasn't for weak, sensitive people ― at least, not  _ physically _ weak or sensitive people. School was also a major contributor. 

Now, she only had about three days left. Maybe during summer break, things would improve. 

Or not.

She didn't know the future, after all.


	2. Prejudice

He didn't cause the scars and bruises.

He didn't understand why anyone would want to hurt themselves, because he was sensitive and people harmed him too often.

Yeah, he wanted to die.

But he was too beat up and tired.

Plus, people already judged him by his family. His mum, she killed herself. They called his older sister a whore. His father was an alcoholic, and indulged no longer in worldly pursuits. He let his children fly free, he just wanted to see his love again.

His older sister thought her body, her virginity was not important. What she got from giving it away? That was important.

She had explained it with this metaphor: most people value what you can get with money more than the paper and metal itself. With her "temporary lovers" she found pleasure, and when she got bored she moved on.

He wanted a foundation if he ever had a relationship, an unwavering commitment. But because of his family, nobody wanted to approach him or get to know him. So he lived through the bias, simply surviving. He couldn't thrive in this way.

He wanted to die.

Two days later, he followed his mother.


	3. Imagination

Imagine this:

Two magnets. A North Pole, and a South Pole. One is a cube. The other is a cube, but with a misshapen edge. So independent of whether or not they're attracted to each other, it won't work. Now personify them. Even if they were or were not originally attracted, third parties constantly shove the idea of attraction at them. The misshapen one (B) is uncertain, and nobody knows the true stance the other one (A) has, because they never voice it. So B is constantly arguing against themself, saying that there is no attachment or attraction. A is still being annoying and not voicing anything, but now they're avoiding B almost entirely, so the dynamic dissolves nearly completely. The third parties are still of no help, pushing and pressing and prying for answers. They are paranoid. Now, Magnet B is questioning the possible evidence of attraction ― but instead of their own, they speculate on A’s. B claims the attraction platonic, though it could be dynamic and explosive if not. At this point, everything is muddled and confusing. And as of now, it isn't resolved. The plot map gets more complex, and thin lines branching off of central ideas become temptresses. A is still, seemingly, either indecisive or impudent.

That was them.


	4. Weak

Ever since I was born, I was told I was weak. Weak-willed, with a thin frame and fragile composure.

 

But I knew I was a fighter, because as soon as I could comprehend those words, I wanted to prove them wrong. My first fight was in Pre-K, when some boy took my crayon.

 

I kicked him in the balls.

 

Then, by Middle School, it was so hard to exist. The people could then see that I didn't have the ability to win anymore. I had the fighting urge, but I was suddenly confined in a bubble of passive-aggressive comebacks and euphemisms because no matter how hard I tried, my body wasn't made to fight.

 

Since I almost always lost fights with other people, I instead fought myself. I cut myself repeatedly, isolated myself from everyone else. I avoided going out anywhere, and that put some meat on my bones ― but not muscle; fat.

 

I started reading stories, with tragedies and death. There was some unprecedented infatuation that I had with the protagonist committing suicide. I thought that would solve all my problems.

 

So I tried it in small ways, testing the waters. Taking pills to make me vomit. Cutting the back of my forearm. Things that didn't change my normal habits.

 

Until I was found out.


	5. Privelage

_ I'm told I should be thankful. _

_ I am. _

_ I truly am. _

_ But I wish I didn't have as many _

_ Given opportunities _

_ At times, because then _

_ I would learn to be strong _

_ For what I stand for _

_ Instead of going along at a mediocre rate _

_ Because of privilege _

 

_ Other people deserve privilege _

_ I don't deserve it― _

 

_ And I don't want it. _

 

_ I know many people in hard situations _

_ Wish they could be normal _

_ And I think I'm normal _

_ At least on the outside _

 

_ But I'm struggling _

_ Whilst in a first-world country― _

_ The current superpower, _

_ For Pete's sake _

 

_ It's like my mind is wired _

_ Like a warrior _

_ But my body and situation is not _

_ I wish I only had to survive _

 

_ Because look how much those people do _

_ Accomplish _

_ When they rise up, _

_ Instead of just running forward _

 

_ I want to be the rough _

_ Lone _

_ Independent kid _

_ With a blurry future _

_ And a fire in their eyes _

 

_ Sometimes, _

_ I want to just be anyone but me _

_ Other times, _

_ I have it all planned out _

 

_ Now I'm grasping for words _

_ It's like creating a vague idea _

_ With words _

_ Instead of saying what's in my mind― _

_ Because there's not a good enough _

_ Word for that _

 

_ But when has anything _

_ Ever been good enough? _

 

_ Comparison is to a standard _

_ So lower your expectations _

_ If you expect me to be _

_ Rising far above them _

 

_ In the place you've put me-- _

_I can't escape from freedom_


	6. Hurt

**I can't handle change.**

Everyone has their guilty pleasures, whether legitimately bad or simply embarrassing. For Alexander, it was angsty romance plots. He would fantasize that they were real-life scenarios, in his timeline, just because the depression or internal pain was relatable and he longed for love. He lived for the domestic junk. He would never tell anyone this, because of course he had a reputation to keep up. But the reason he let the blade of a disassembled pencil sharpener draw across his wrist was because he didn't like formulating full thoughts sometimes. It gave him a headache to process everything. Such as the fact that his sworn enemy was moving after a series of incidents that were partially his fault, and he couldn't see him at school or anywhere. That ripped a hole through him, because he was reminded of this in every small thing.

 

Or the fact that his friends would hurt him, thinking it was funny but nevertheless. It didn't bother him before, but the crummy weather and lack of sleep made him weak and tired. And hell, don't even get started on the schoolwork. School in general sucked.

 

The stories made him believe in happy endings, because that's how they always ended.

 

Additionally, he was devoid of emotion. And from the detailed descriptions in the stories he had read, he was slipping into a void of depression.

 

Great.

 

He would write stories, vent his feeling in an attempt to externally process it. People didn't help, he was the person to be relied on, not the one with issues. And humor was a thin mask which no one cared to peel off. The one time he mentioned suicidal thoughts, his parents got mad for bringing subjects like that up in front of his siblings. So he didn't feel like braving the topic again with them. He mentioned it in front of his friends, dead serious, but they took it as a joke or a prank, or less serious than it actually was. So when the scars showed up, nobody cared. He would subtly hint at it, but still no one did anything. The people he knew would confront him, for sure, if they figured it out.

 

Right?

 

People said he was overreacting, not directly to  _ him _ but in interviews and articles... Was that true? Again, with the labels they put on millennials, maybe that was what caused him to act so  _ extra _ . Maybe their speculations were just limits, barriers.

 

Another thing.

 

He had a double standard, like most people. But what he did, he didn't set standards for others. He let them judge him, sort him out, label him; with no protest, because the school system was into nonviolence.

 

So the only person he could hurt was himself.


End file.
